The Dove and The Slayer
by SpartAl412
Summary: The Old World is a dangerous place where war is the great constant that shapes history. It is a place with little room for mercy and compassion, yet there are those who make it their goal to ease the constant suffering of those in need. It takes an odd sort of madness to be such a person who cares for others and doubly when you are friends with someone who is quite the opposite.


The burning light of the sun filled the skies above the Old World where across the lands, battles were fought, deeds of heroism were performed and great evils were vanquished. In the west of The Empire, the Beastmen herds rampaged across the forested realms while in the north, an army of debauched warriors of the Dark Prince assailed the lands of the Ostermark and in the east, the dead rose from the lands of Sylvania. Countless other battles were fought across the land as well as in other nations such as Bretonnia, Tilea and Kislev where the courage of Men was all that stood against the armies of darkness and ruin.

Yet in places such as the Imperial town of Flussdorf which was situated along the banks of the Aver River and along the borders with The Moot and dread Sylvania, a different kind of savagery took place. The voices of men, women and even children were raised as a mad lust for blood filled the crowd that had gathered at the town square as they chanted. Underneath the watchful gaze of an ancient statue depicting Sigmar Heldenhammer himself, a large and heavy wooden stake about eight feet in height stood with various pieces of kindling thrown around it.

Tied to the stake was a struggling figure dressed in a torn, ragged and dirtied robes which had once been so pristine and white. Golden hair wildly spilled down around the waist of the one tied to stake as those around shouted "burn the witch!" while pelting the unfortunate individual with mud and rotten vegetables. Looking to the crowd with blue eyes that were opened widely, Annette de Couronne could help but feel a mixture of fear, pity and even a bit of hatred towards the gathering.

Desperately, she whispered a prayer to Shallya for deliverance from the ungrateful and angry mob that so easily believed in her guilt. Softly cursing the day she had been sent north to the Empire from her homeland of Bretonnia, she saw many within the crowd avert their eyes or cover their ears as they honestly believed that she was actually putting a hex on them. Even the peasantry back in Bretonnia was not this ignorant, nor were they as suspicious and quick to jump towards violence.

Having come to the Empire as part of a mission to strengthen the bonds between the priesthood of the Goddess of Mercy's clergies in the north and the south, the priestess had in over the half a year she been in this land, found very little to like about its people. If this was some sort of test from Shallya then it was certainly a most difficult one for Annette as she listened to the abuses which the crowd hurled at her along with their rubbish. Among the crowd, she saw the familiar faces of those she had treated mere weeks ago, their expressions was also ones of madness and bloodlust as the more fanatical members of the mob shouted firebrand speeches and praises towards the Empire's founder.

Just a few hours ago, she had come to town for the sake of purchasing a number of supplies from the local apothecary shop and it was on the way back to the Shallyan Temple that she had been attacked by the crowd that was now gathered here. Oh how she regretted declining the offer from some of her current batch of patients to come with her as a guard or instead having sent one of the local assistants in her stead. The crowd in front of her began to part as men dressed in the green and yellow uniforms of Stirland's State Soldiery forced their way through as they guarded the one who had incited the mob in the first place.

Dressed in a coat of dark brown leathers with a silvered breastplate depicting the twin-tailed and wearing the signature hat worn by the Templars of Sigmar, Witch Hunter Rudolf Van Hoen regarded her with the cold look of an executioner who was about to carry out his duty to a condemned criminal. With cold grey eyes, a square shaped jaw that was covered in a thick but well trimmed stubble and a couple of scars across his face, Annette would have likely find the Templar to be quite handsome in another life but definitely not now for the man had been nothing but source of woe for the priestess.

'See how the foreign witch curses us in her foul tongue!' shouted the Witch Hunter as he raised his voice which was deep and authoritative 'see how the pagan harlot seeks to bring ruin to the noble Sons of Sigmar!'

'Burn her!' shouted a man she recognized as the town's local butcher whose son had come to her for healing after accidentally playing with a meat cleaver.

'A foreign spy she is!' shouted another man among the crowd and the mob seemed even more eager for blood.

Wanting nothing more than to lash out and shout at the fools for their idiocy, Annette knew well enough that to do so would only dig herself deeper. With a sigh of resignation, she supposed that the only thing she could properly do as a priestess of her order was to ask the goddess to forgive these ignorant louts for their stupidity. The Witch Hunter then stepped forward, closer towards Annette with one hand placed upon the grip of his flintlock pistol while the other rested upon the hilt of a rapier.

'There is still a way to at least save your immortal soul, sister' said the Witch Hunter as if her were a priest about to listen to a confession.

'And what would that be I wonder' replied Annette as she looked the Templar in the eye and she had a good feeling that it would involve renouncing Shallya or the Lady of the Lake.

'Embrace the truth that is Sigmar Heldenhammer, the one true god of mankind and at the least, your soul will not suffer an eternity of damnation' spoke the Witch Hunter.

'I am a Priestess of Shallya, Witch Hunter' was the answer of Annette as she did her best to remain confident and defiant 'I will not abandon the Goddess of Mercy of whom even your people pray to for healing.'

A look of genuine sadness seemed to come over the Witch Hunter as he quietly nodded and he then barked an order towards the State Soldiers to hand him a torch. 'I am sorry for what I must do' he then said 'for the safety and purity of the Empire's people must be defended at all costs.'

The crowd then became silent as a burning torch was handed to the Witch Hunter which he carried in his left hand and an air of eagerness could be felt like an audience about to watch the climax of a play. The Witch Hunter then drew closer towards the piles of wood and Annette could feel her heart thumping as her eyes were drawn to the flames which would soon consume her flesh. If there was a particular regret she truly had at the moment, it was that she wondered who will now tend to those who had most recently come under her care.

'May your pagan goddess have mercy on you witch, for in the eyes of Sigmar, there will be none' said the Witch Hunter as he began to lower the torch until a loud crack filled the air and he paused for a moment.

The eyes of the crowd and even the Witch Hunter were drawn to the source of the crack which Annette recognized as the discharge of a black powder gun. There was scuffle among the crowd and several people began to back away from the commotion. Annette's heart was lifted when she saw the top of a bright orange crest which was followed by a deep, gravelly voice which shouted angrily while shoving people aside.

Two soldiers tried to block the way of an orange bearded, stocky and deeply tattooed figure whose flesh was covered in several bandages and from what skin could be seen was heavily inked with intricate runic tattoos. Garbed in simple boots and striped trousers, what was most distinguishing about the figure's garments was the belt of mutated human skulls that were placed around his waist. His name was Jurgen Olafson, a mighty dwarf warrior who claimed to be from the cold, harsh land of Norsca and honestly was actually supposed to be resting for the dwarf had recently come under her care.

In Jurgen's hands, Annette saw him carry one of his war axes on his right while on his left he carried a soldier's rifle which rested over his left shoulder while smoke rose from the end of the barrel. The dwarf's other war axe rested upon one of two skulls which was composed of just the lower jaw with some metal attached to the back with the handle going through the space between the sets of teeth and the head resting on the strange sheathe of bone and iron. One hard look from the Slayer's garnet coloured eyes was enough to send the two soldiers quaking as they made way for the dwarf who now had a growing reputation.

'Naw why dunnae ya be a gud lad an be pootin that thar torch away, manling!' boomed Jurgen as he tossed the spent rifle aside and pulled out his other axe. Annette could not see the Witch Hunter's face but she noticed the way his left hand fingers twitched and how just ever so slightly did it move closer to the grip of his pistol.

'You dare disrupt the divine judgment of our Lord Sigmar's servants' said the Witch Hunter in an almost accusing manner that was also mixed with surprise and disbelief. From what Annette knew of the followers of Sigmar, they held the mountain folk in reverence for the Dwarfs had played a major role in assisting the barbarian chieftain in building the Empire.

'Joostice!? Hah! Ya is a foony one, manling!' replied the Slayer rather mockingly as he then continued 'all I be seein is a yella-bellied bugga who boorns lassies ta make em imself feel laik a beeg man!'

'My work is a holy one! Dwarf!' roared the Witch Hunter in barely restrained anger and Annette feared that the man would either shoot Jurgen or order the crowd to attack him. 'For hundreds of years, the Templars of my Order have protected the Empire from foes both without and within! Our judgment is both just and without question for the defense of mankind itself depends on it!'

'Oooh beeg responsibilitees ya go thar!' Jurgen said again in a still mocking manner 'I be sure tha yer Sigmar moos be so proud tha ere ye are beein all inqeesitve an killin thos who heel folk fer a livin while tha undead buggas is still out an eating tha brains o yer fellows.'

'Enough!' Shouted the Witch Hunter who took a step forwards with one hand visibly drawing closer to his gun while the dwarf hardly seemed bothered by it. 'In the commandments of our Lord Sigmar' growled the Witch hunter 'we are expected to respect the Mountain Folk and that is the only reason why I have not shot you or ordered my men to have you killed for such heresy.'

The Witch Hunter then took a deep breath and it looked to Annette that the man was still struggling with the urge to just outright shoot Jurgen. 'Now I would kindly ask that you leave us, dwarf' continued Templar Van Hoen as Annette imagined him to be looking the Slayer in the eyes 'for this is now official business with the Temple of Sigmar, which you are now interfering with'

Jurgen snorted and had a clear look of being unimpressed for in the time Annette had known the dwarf; nobody told him what to do, especially if that person was human. If a fight did break out though, she would honestly be more worried about the soldiers who were just following orders or the crowds of peasants who were riled up by the Witch Hunter. The dwarf then took a threatening step forward and Annette noticed the way the armed State Troops readied their weapons as the crowd held their breaths.

'Well I be owin this ere lassie a debt, manling' growled Jurgen 'saved me life she did, and so it be only fairs tha I do tha same an I dunnae be carin wha ya theenk.'

'Then die and be damned!' shouted the Witch Hunter as he grabbed his pistol and at the same moment, Jurgen pulled back his arm and hurled one of his axes at the Templar. Annette saw as the dwarf-forged axe began to glow with dwarfish runes and electric sparks began to dance around the head while it flew towards the Witch Hunter with a speed to match an arrow in flight. As the Witch Hunter's pistol cleared the leather holster and was about to take aim, the thrown axe slammed into his left arm which was nearly severed by the blade.

Templar Van Hoen screamed in pain as was staggered before felling to his knees while dropping his gun and the torch which thankfully with the latter, landed upon the muddy cobblestone ground and only a few scant inches away from the nearest bit of kindling. Jurgen was quick to stomp out the flames before he went up to the Witch Hunter and delivered a sharp head butt towards the man's face and he dropped like a sack of potatoes before the Slayer kicked the man in the teeth for good measure. The State Troops then drew swords and halberds towards Jurgen who quickly retrieved the axe he had thrown from the now unconscious Witch Hunter.

The Dwarf fearlessly faced down the Imperial Soldiers with both of his axes still crackling with lightning and Annette felt worried that the soldiers really would attack the dwarf. Even from her position, Annette could see the fear in the eyes of the Imperial Soldiers as each man nervously looked their comrades and they probably wondered who was likely to run away or who would stand and fight against the Slayer who had so recently single handedly slain many mighty undead horrors from Slyvania.

'Come on Manlings!' madly roared Jurgen as he clashed the heads of his axes together with a loud explosion of electrical sparks from each of them 'think ye all can take me! I wuz killin Daemons, Northmen and Gors sence efore yer gran-fathas wuz all born! Let's be seein if ye all is luckier than em Von Carstein buggas!'

At the mention of the dread name of the vampire family that ruled Sylvania, Annette saw one Imperial soldier lose his nerve and run away. A sergeant called the name of the man who fled and then another ran as well before more and more of the Imperial Soldiers fled until only a handful remained. Those that still stood their ground had an uncertain look about them before finally the sergeant sheathed his sword and ordered for his men to stand down.

Jurgen gave disdainful huff as the Imperial Soldiers then began telling the crowd to head back to their homes with many quite eager to escape the Slayer's fearsome gaze. The Slayer then sheathed his axes and took the Witch Hunter's sword before climbing over the pile of kindling and toward the bound priestess who despite her aversion for violence, felt extremely relieved to not only be burned at the stake but was also satisfied to see the man in pain.

'Thank you so much, Sir Olafson' whispered Annette as the dwarf went behind her and began cutting the rope that bound her hand.

'Ahh, think nuthin o it lass, joost in a days work' said the Slayer 'and besides, I wuz gettin a hankerin fer sum ale, even if it be sum weak manling swill.'

'I think I will owe you many drinks sir dwarf' replied Annette who felt the bindings become undone and her hands were freed. She quickly then embraced the dwarf in a grateful hug and she felt his big hands patting her back.

'So what we do about the manling there?' Jurgen then said as he then looked towards the still and now unconscious Witch Hunter.

With a sigh, Annette knew that despite her personal feelings of hating the man, the strictures of her faith was clear and she could not stand by when a person was suffering. 'Lets get him to the temple' said the priestess who tried to suppress the reluctance in her voice.

The bandaged Slayer gave her a strange look as if she were crazy and he shrugged before dragging the unconscious man by his feet with absolutely no degree of carefulness. Perhaps this was after all a test from her goddess she thought, if that was the case though, then Shallya certainly decided to use the most unusual of messengers around.

'Ye are a loony one lass' Jurgen then said while continuing to drag the Witch Hunter whose wounded arm was not bleeding but she could see that the injury was cauterized from within, 'and I be a Slayer mind ye.'

'I guess we are all crazy in our own ways' shrugged Annette as she gave the dwarf a smile.


End file.
